A Ranger for the Holidays (Lone Star Cowboy League)

by Allie Pleiter

  Lizzie broke her chain of thought. “Speaking of new shoes, look at Boone’s new boots—aren’t they smart?”

  At Lizzie’s insistence, Boone hoisted his long leg to show of a very elaborate hand-tooled cowboy boot. If Boone was buying gifts, he was certainly including himself on the list. Fond of shoes as Amelia was, it didn’t take long to calculate that the set of boots on Boone’s feet probably rivaled the tiny diamond on Lizzie’s left hand. Where was the lavish generosity to the woman he loved? “Very fancy indeed,” Amelia said. She swallowed her irritation that Boone seemed to be quick to spend funds on himself but enjoyed his fiancée’s “financial independence.” Lizzie clearly was over the moon for her man and had bought him many gifts, but Boone didn’t seem to dote on his soon-to-be bride in the way Amelia would have wanted for her sister.

  “Boone, how do you like the wedding plans so far?” She watched for Boone’s face to light up at the prospect of his upcoming wedding.

  “Lizzie’s got us signed up for that class at your church.” His tone was decidedly neutral; neither thrilled nor annoyed. And he’d said your church—not our church.

  Amelia diverted her attention to Gramps and Finn. Gramps’s face was pleasant enough, but Amelia hoped Lizzie and Boone couldn’t see the skeptical edges in Gramps’s eyes. The evening was definitely not taking the “warm up to Boone” atmosphere she’d hoped. And Finn? He just kept staring out the window at the truck in the driveway. Was he having the same thoughts about Boone’s new purchases? Or was he just uncomfortable as the only nonfamily member in this family gathering? It struck her—and not in a good way—that Finn seemed to fit in around the table far better than Boone did. That’s not fair, Amelia reminded herself. It’s Lizzie’s heart that chose Boone, not yours.

  And just what was her heart doing in regard to Finn Brannigan? Could she chide Lizzie for her a lack of wisdom when she was showing a growing lack herself? There had been a moment back in the car, a long moment when their hands had touched, when her heart had turned over in her chest and woken up in a way she hadn’t thought possible. At least not possible for a long time since the wounds of Rafe’s departure. The practicalities of life didn’t let her trust that current longing. Finn was handsome, kind and well-mannered—all the things she currently found lacking in Boone—but he was also deeply troubled, full of uncertainties and most of all quite likely bound to another woman who missed him very much. And now she knew he was also in the same profession that had pulled Rafe from her.

  Were I to make a list of pros and cons, Amelia thought to herself, for it was something Mama had taught her to do when making a hard decision, the “con” column would be filled.

  Ah, but Mama also taught her to trust her instincts and the Spirit’s nudging. Sometimes, Mama had said, you only needed one “pro.” In fact, some of her best successes at Here to Help had been the illogical long shots.

  And that’s my problem, Amelia thought as she allowed herself a long look at Finn while he politely asked Boone about the features of his truck. I’ve been taught to believe in long shots.

  * * *

  The truck had been driving him crazy all night. Finn couldn’t stop staring at it, couldn’t shake the bad feeling it gave him. Had he owned one just like it? Was that the connection? A low hum of panic had started in his stomach at dinner and hadn’t let up yet. Not to mention his reaction to this Boone fellow. He didn’t want to be rude and had no business passing judgment, but the guy gave him a distinctly bad feeling. The kind of gut instinct Finn imagined a Ranger both fine-tuned and relied upon—the “bad guy” opposite of Amelia’s spiritual nudge to see the best in people.

  He caught Boone’s elbow as everyone but Boone rose from the table when Lizzie and Amelia went seeing to dessert—pie, of course. Didn’t this man’s mama teach him to stand up when a woman left the table? He didn’t remember his past, but at least he could remember his manners, for crying out loud. “Hey, Boone, you mind if I take a closer look at that impressive truck of yours?”

  “Uh...I suppose,” Boone said, starting to rise.

  “No, don’t get up—stay with your lady.” Finn wanted a chance to look at the truck without Boone watching. He needed to find out what about this truck set his skin to prickling.

  Had he once had a bad experience with a black pickup? He knew from the files Dr. Searle gave him that his wife had been driving a light blue hatchback when she’d been killed. He stood still in the hallway for a moment, waiting for a wall of pain to hit him as he tried to remember the death of his wife and child. Again, a wave of hollow, factual regret washed over him, but it was an empty grief for facts he couldn’t yet feel. He shut his eyes and leaned against the front door. I’m sorry, Belinda. I’m so sorry, Annie. I will remember you—somehow—I promise.

  To his surprise, the vow was followed easily by a prayer. I can’t go on like this, Lord. You’ve got to give me my memory back. I can’t stand it. I’ll gladly swallow all the pain if You’ll just heal me.

  The fancy truck fairly gleamed in the sunset, large and imposing. A real “look at me” vehicle, full of chrome and dark windows. It looked like the kind of car a guy would keep spotless, but the truck was splotched with mud and even some bits of shrub from a recent off-road adventure. He peeked in the driver’s side window—tinted, of course—to see fast-food bags and a handful of shirts strewn all over the passenger seat. He hadn’t even moved the shirts for Lizzie to sit when they’d driven here together, for crying out loud. Manners or not, Finn felt as if he’d have a hard time keeping his mouth shut if Amelia asked him what he really thought of Boone.

  The truck bed showed the same sloppy care, with shovels, a box or two and several tools just tossed in. It was the cable cutter that caught Finn’s suspicious eye—just the kind of tool to clip cattle fencing. Had Boone made it onto Lucy Benson’s list of suspects for the rustler plaguing Little Horn? If not, he ought to be.

  It was the far side of the car, however, that dropped a rock into Finn’s stomach. A large scrape on the front passenger-side fender, ending in a dent. The side of a black pickup truck wasn’t a unique sight—Little Horn must have two dozen trucks something like it driving around town. Still, this truck made Finn’s pulse raise. It was a big truck, dark and powerful, but even that didn’t explain Finn’s physical reaction to the vehicle. Honestly, it felt as if the thing was coming at him, even parked as it was. He stood off to the right side of the truck, staring at it and the dent, telling himself there was no rational explanation for what he was feeling.

  The flash of image came at him like a lightning strike, nearly knocking the wind out of him. A black pickup—large and tricked-out like this one—barreling down a dirt road right at him. He could feel his eyes squinting in the blinding headlights, remember the gravel slipping under his feet as he ran. He could hear the rumble of the souped-up exhaust as the truck sped up, see the reflection of his frightened face in the tinted windows as the metal slammed him in the ribs.

  Finn fell against the car, gasping for breath at the onslaught of memory, and then pulled away to stare in shock at the dent in the car. It matched the height of his shoulder. He grabbed on to the large rearview mirror the same way he had done in his memory, frightened to find the smear of a handprint in the exact position where his fingers now lay.

  It wasn’t possible, was it? This could not be the car in his memory. His whole body shook as he remembered the impact, remembered the feeling of his arms and legs tumbling around him as he rolled down the hillside toward pine trees. Hadn’t Amelia said he was found under some pine trees?

  His body had to be drawing connections that weren’t there; the trauma was running away with his imagination. Still, the bruises that were just fading on his shoulder, the pain that still lingered on the left side of his ribs—those things weren’t in his imagination.

  Ducking toward the back of the truck, Finn began rummaging through the items in the payload searching for anything that looked familiar. It was impulsive, assumptive ev
en, but he couldn’t stop himself. He pulled to toolbox toward him and flipped the lid, sucking in a breath at a black ski mask with orange trim—the kind hunters used—wadded up in the top tray. I know that mask. I’ve seen it.

  A dozen men could own that mask, he argued with himself, but the alarms in his brain continued to go off. He could see the figure—flannel shirt, ripped blue jeans, dark brown gloves...and black ski mask. A tall, lanky guy just about Boone’s height.

  Get a hold of yourself, man. You can’t be sure of anything. You don’t even know if what you remember is real. Finn’s hands went up over his eyes again, the desperate feeling of his composure sliding away rising back up over him the way it had in the hospital. Calm down. You can’t walk back in there like this.

  He heard the front door open and Bug’s scrambling paws come down the driveway. Finn pulled himself together just in time to quietly latch the toolbox shut and walk forward to meet Boone’s grin over the hood of the car.

  “Pretty, ain’t she?”

  Boone’s voice sounded smooth and sinister even as Finn told himself he had no proof of the suspicion clanging through his brain right now. “Fine thing,” he choked out, feeling as if he’d swallowed a handful of dust. “Let me hear how she fires up, will you?” he asked as calmly as he could.

  “No different than any other,” Boone said. Was that resistance Finn heard in his voice?

  “Looks like you had the exhaust refitted special,” Finn persisted, pulling open the driver’s side door for Boone. “I reckon she roars like a lion.” I’m sure I know exactly how she does. He stood back, Bug circling beside him, and waited for the sound to hit him in the way he knew it would. I’ll go to my grave with that sound in my ears, he thought. It had come back to him with such grisly clarity that he felt as if he could pick it out of a hundred vehicles on a racetrack.

  The truck roared to life, sending Bug running for the side yard and sending Finn’s gut down through the soles of his shoes. There was no mistaking the deep, throaty roar of this truck’s exhaust.

  You hit me, Finn wanted to roar above the rumble. You did this to me. He wanted to climb in the cab and punch Boone’s jaw. Finn felt his fingers flex with the overwhelming urge to make Boone pay for all the pain, all the frustration, all the unknowing of the past two weeks with some pain of his own. Only the knowledge that Amelia and Lizzie could see the truck through the kitchen windows kept his raging temper in check. He couldn’t be sure yet—there wasn’t enough proof to lash out and there certainly wasn’t enough proof to call Lucy Benson. He needed something more substantial than his unreliable memory. Not here, he repeated to himself until his throat unclenched. Not now. But soon.

  “When you boys are done playing with your big, shiny toys, there’s pie and coffee” came Amelia’s voice from the front door.

  “It’s okay, Miss K,” Boone called as he quickly killed the ignition. “We’re done here.”

  Oh, no, we’re not, Finn thought as he called Bug to his side. He picked up the chubby little dog so he would have an excuse not to look Boone in the eyes right now. I haven’t even gotten started with you.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amelia grabbed Lucy’s arm on the way out of Bible study at the Little Horn Community Church Wednesday morning. “Have you got time for coffee?”

  Lucy smiled. “Didn’t we just drink coffee and eat coffee cake?”

  In Lucy’s defense, delicious snacks were one of the best parts of the women’s Bible study Amelia attended twice a month, but this wasn’t about refreshments. “I could use a friendly ear.”

  “Oh,” Lucy said. “That kind of coffee.” She pulled out her smartphone, squinting at it for a second before announcing, “I’ve got forty minutes. Fifty if you want to ride out with me to pick up some files at the county office. I’ve been meaning to ask you how things have been going anyway.”

  “Let’s drive. I don’t really need more coffee anyway.” She climbed into the passenger seat of Lucy’s SUV. “Let me call Gramps and let him know I’ll be another hour.”

  Gramps picked up the phone right away. “Hi there, honey.”

  “I’m going to run down to the county office with Lucy for an hour or so. You’ll be okay until I get back?”

  Gramps chuckled. “I’m fine. Finn’s here, remember. And boy, will you be surprised when you see what he’s been up to.”

  Amelia gulped. “Surprised how?”

  “Now, if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?” Gramps’s voice was light enough, but Amelia wasn’t in much of a mood to add more chaos to her already chaotic life.

  “Will I like this surprise?”

  “I think so. You let me know when you see it. We’ll expect you in about an hour, then, but no need to hurry.”

  Amelia slipped the phone back into her purse and pushed out a breath.

  “What was that all about?” Lucy’s green eyes widened under the fringe of her blond bangs.

  “Gramps said Finn has a surprise for me when I get back home.”

  “Well, now, maybe it is a good thing that we’ve got those ten extra minutes. Tell me about Finn. I’ve been a little concerned since that scene in the park.”

  Amelia ran her fingers through a curl, deciding how to describe all that had happened since she spoke with Lucy last. “He remembers more than he’s telling me, I know that. Dr. Searle gave him some papers that set him off that day. He won’t say what was in them, but it was some terrible shock to him.” She looked at her friend. “There’s something devastating in Finn’s past, Lucy. I don’t know if it was something he did or something done to him, but it pulled the rug right out from underneath him, that’s for sure.”

  Lucy pursed her lips. “Do you want me to look into it?”

  Lucy wasn’t quick to use her professional contacts for personal reasons, so the offer only confirmed Amelia’s suspicion that Lucy still had her doubts about Finn. “No, I don’t want to invade his privacy like that. The way he explained it, he knew what had happened, but he wouldn’t share it until he remembered it. If you ask me, that means it’s about ‘B,’ whoever she is. Just the way he talks, I know it’s about someone very close to him.”

  “Have you thought about how close you’re getting to him?” Lucy’s words were gentle, but her eyes showed concern for her friend. “You’re falling for him—even I can see that. Are you sure you’re in a good place to be smart about that right now?”

  Amelia leaned her head against the window. The morning was crisp and clear—her favorite kind of Texan winter day. “Is it that obvious?”

  Shrugging, Lucy pulled out onto the highway. “Maybe only to me. There’s a heap of unknowns here, Amelia. I don’t want you to get hurt again. Have you considered that he may still be married to this ‘B’?”

  Amelia shut her eyes. “Every second of every day. Believe me, Lucy, my head knows this is a bad idea. My heart doesn’t seem to want to listen. Even with all the questions, I’m comfortable with him. Finn fits better into our family than Boone does right now—how irritating is that?”

  “Ah, Boone. How did the ‘get to know your future brother-in-law’ dinner go?”

  “If you base it on the sheer volume of chicken that boy put away, it went fabulously.”

  Lucy laughed. “That doesn’t sound like an unqualified success to me.”

  Turning toward Lucy, Amelia offered, “He arrived in a brand-new, very expensive truck. He’s flush with money all of a sudden, Lucy, and I wonder where it came from.” She hated to implicate Boone even a little, but facts were piling up against the man.

  “He’s worked at most of the ranches that got hit. That would give him knowledge on how to beat their security systems.”

  Amelia had to ask, “He’s still on your list of suspects, isn’t he?” How was she ever going to break this to Lizzie? Should she even try?

  “He’s not my prime suspect, if that helps. I still think this other guy could be our rustler, but I haven’t got enough to bring him in fo
r questioning yet. The truck is flashy, you say?”

  “As much as I know about trucks.” Amelia remembered how the big black truck with all that chrome practically filled her driveway. “You sure notice it when he drives up.”

  “Well, even though no one has mentioned a fancy truck involved, a thief smart enough to outwit so many security cameras wouldn’t flash such a noticeable vehicle around town to draw suspicion.”

  Amelia laughed. “Are you saying you don’t think Boone is smart enough to be our Robin Hood?” She had to admit, Boone didn’t strike her as the sharpest tool in the shed—certainly no match for how clever Lizzie could be when she set her mind to something. “And there’s another thing—something odd went on between Boone and Finn while they were out looking at Boone’s truck.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it. Neither of them said anything, but there was this prickling between them—mostly on Finn’s part, I think. Boone never seems to get worked up about anything—when they came inside, Finn’s face was all tight even when he tried to be pleasant, and he went up to his room right after we finished desert and didn’t come down for the rest of the night.”

  Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe he was just giving you, Boone, Lizzie and Gramps some time to be a family?”

  “No, it’s something else. Finn was trying to be nice to Boone during dinner, but after they went out to see the truck, Finn just sort of shut down. Nothing mean, just a sort of—” Amelia searched for the right description “—unsettling distance. I could see his brain going a mile a minute, but it had nothing to do with anything in the room.”